


hereafter is this rose

by LizMikaelson, saltziepark



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Hanahaki Disease, Heartbreak, and learns about josies secret, and penelope says her iconic line, bring tissues maybe, hope pokes herself, its election time, josie's space buns are the best thing about this fic, just crank that angstometer up to a thousand, or chocolate, penelope looks far too good in blue and yellow polyester, set during season 1, that bitch dana gets punched, you know what line im talking about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizMikaelson/pseuds/LizMikaelson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltziepark/pseuds/saltziepark
Summary: You are flowers in my stomach. Cutting me open nightly, blooming through the cracks of the ribs. I only want to be the sun for you.— Elke Rivera posie hanahaki au
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson & Lizzie Saltzman, Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman, Penelope Park & Josie Saltzman, Penelope Park/Josie Saltzman
Comments: 84
Kudos: 249





	1. one

This isn’t like her. 

This isn’t supposed to be how her story goes.

It’s dramatic and filled with the kind of melancholy that a sadist would love and Josie never, ever thought that this particular curse would fall on her shoulders. She’s not the martyr type. She isn’t Hope. 

She thought she would be spared this one, that if anything it would be Lizzie, unlucky in love for years and years. Dramatic enough to pull this off, the kind of fairytale blonde who would look lovely surrounded by a halo of flowers. 

But her sister is protected by ignorance and narcissism, somehow skirting this fate. 

And Josie, Josie isn’t like that. 

Josie is careful and cautious and guards her heart, and yet, she falls for the one person who could, who will destroy her.

Death at Penelope’s hands should be a sweet release. This isn’t anything like that. 

Penelope Park leaves her behind, and nothing is the same again. 

It doesn’t start immediately. First, there is the pain of heartbreak, normal and healthy, and Lizzie bitches and Josie cries, and all is as it should be. There are insults and glances, and it’s a breakup, and Josie eats chocolate and watches movies that make her cry, and it should have been okay. 

She thought it would have started after Penelope had broken up with her.

After the dagger was plunged so deep in her heart that she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to take a breath without the sting of memories burning through her mind and catching in her throat. 

She thought, in that moment, that it couldn’t get any worse, that she couldn’t feel any worse, than when Penelope Park so effortlessly broke her like a promise, her cruelty hidden behind an impenetrable mask, her words clinical and surgical. She thought she would never feel so broken again. 

Josie was wrong to think that was the worst part.

And now, after all of that, she’s going to die. 

She thought that waking up alone in a cold sweat, reaching for Penelope in the dark, that crying herself to sleep for weeks on end, that skipping class and seeking refuge in the library to avoid Penelope’s amber gaze, that lashing out at Lizzie, at Hope, at her dad, that was rock bottom.

It hadn’t been. Not even close. 

Because seeing Penelope in the kitchen with M.G., his hands at her waist and her arms around his neck - that is the worst.

This is rock bottom. 

The betrayal cuts hot through her veins and Josie spins on her heel, fleeing to her room. 

Slamming her bedroom door behind her and collapsing onto it, her back firm against the wood, she gasps, the sobs wrenching their way through her body and she struggles for breath. Her vision swims black as she wills herself not to cry. The tears she had cried for Penelope have long since dried and the brunette doesn’t deserve her anguish anymore. 

She’s gasping louder now, struggling to breathe, her throat itching, like talons clawing her skin, before she’s doubled over, her hands on her knees as she coughs, dry-heaving, only to see one lone flower petal fall to the floor. 

This might be worse than rock bottom. 

She’s read about this before. About witches wasting away into nothingness from the disease. The petal taunts her, it’s perfect and thankfully, thankfully, not yet stained red with blood. The blood comes later, Josie knows. 

She picks it up and holds it softly and has to laugh, the sensation scratching at her raw throat and coming out with a croak. Penelope loved daffodils, but for Josie - two small facts remain in her mind. A tiny memory from when she was buying different flowers for Penelope every week, memorizing their meanings. 

Daffodils meant unrequited love. 

Unrequited love meant that no matter what happened, Penelope didn’t love her anymore, or perhaps she never had. The other thought was that Josie had, slowly at first and then all at once, quite irrevocably fallen in love with Penelope Park, and it would be her undoing.

Penelope Park stole her heart, and now she may well get Josie’s life, and she wants to shed new tears at the injustice of it all. 

The petal is still in her hand when the door opens behind her and Josie crushes it quickly, spinning on her heel.

Not that Lizzie notices, as she storms in, immediately starting a speech about Raf, the party and how exactly they are absolutely perfect for each other. 

“He’s just my type,” she says, collapsing onto Josie’s bed, “hot, damaged and dangerous.” Josie tosses the petal into the trash, letting it disappear between old notes. 

One day, she might actually say what she thinks about Lizzie’s _very_ particular type. 

But today, that’s not a conversation she wants to have. 

So she settles on humming a response as Lizzie’s chatter continues, a coughing fit erupting moments later that she stifles with a sip of water (nothing comes up) and if her dreams are haunted with fields and fields of flowers, dying, rotted, no one has to know about that. 

Certainly not Lizzie. Definitely not her dad.

She will deal with this. Silently, the way she always has. 

There is another petal the next day, just a single one after her body is nearly torn in two with coughs, the perfume coating her throat. She’s alone in the bathroom for the attack, thankfully. 

Another daffodil. 

She thinks she might start hating daffodils. Funny, Penelope loved them. It all starts and ends with Penelope, now.

Josie’s at a party later in the week, finally able to breathe normally (or what passes for normal now, piles of daffodils shoved in her wastepaper bin that is full to bursting) and she sees Penelope from across the way. Their eyes meet and Josie watches just for a second, but then that feeling is there again.

She flees the party early and heads straight for the bathroom, crashing through the door and collapsing on the toilet with a slam. She coughs and she coughs and she coughs, six petals dropping into the water, floating like lilies. 

She flushes them down and they swirl in the bowl and Josie can’t help but think about how out of control her life is spinning, one beautiful petal at a time. 

And there’s definitely rage burning through her when she sees Penelope two nights later, so, so beautiful in the dim light of the evening, laughing and smiling and so utterly unaffected, while Josie is falling apart at the seams, a garden coming out of her mouth like a fountain of flora.. 

Rage, for Josie, has always taken a simple form and her lips whisper the spell almost before she’s truly thought this through. 

“Ignalusa,” she mutters, and across the courtyard, Penelope is illuminated by golden flames and Josie’s throat itches as the flames burn. 

By the time she comes back to her room, she finds Hope there. 

Which is an absolutely unpleasant surprise, because Josie wants to curl up beneath her blankets and not get involved in any kind of magic to get stupid Landon Kirby back. 

But there’s the allure of the magic and Hope’s only thinly veiled reminder that Josie did just set another student on fire. 

Dad wouldn’t be mad, but he would be disappointed. 

They do the spell on the floor, in front of the fireplace, and she’ll have to air the room out later, make sure that Lizzie doesn’t notice the fragrance of dark magic in the air. 

Hope slits the throat of the rat, moving in her hands seconds before as she whispers a silent apology to it, and Josie is suddenly reminded of her own mortality as the blood drips down Hope’s hands.

They whisper the spell and Hope’s power rushes through her veins as she sees the images of Landon, in a bus, with a knife, and yeah, that’s going to be a problem. 

After they finish the spell, after Hope rushes off to track down Landon, Josie is in her room and she sits on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands as ten petals fall from her lips as the breath is snatched from her lungs. The air in the room is fragrant and sweet and Josie has to rush to the window to air out the scent. 

New ones this time.

Pink camellias, longing. Red petals would mean passion but no, that’s not what’s happening here. Josie is in agony, desperate for the one person that will only make this irreparably worse. 

She wonders when the bleeding will start.

She wonders when they will start to wither and die before she can get them out. 

And as she watches the petal catch fire in her palm, she wonders how much longer she has left before she withers too. 


	2. two

The next day starts almost normally. Lizzie is already gone and Josie wakes to the ever-familiar feeling, leaning over the side of her bed to cough up even more petals. These ones are new and Josie grabs the book on flowers that she found in the library that now lives on her bedside table to leaf through the pages. She reads it every night, wondering, hoping that maybe if she understood her fate, it would be easier to swallow, easier to reconcile. She doesn’t think it will. 

White and pink anemones - sincerity and forsaken love. Great. She whispers the spell quietly, watching the hues bleed together as they burn, as her vision blurs with tears before she gets out of bed. 

She remembers belatedly as Lizzie comes out of the bathroom that it’s the day of the flag football match with Mystic Falls. Looking out their window, the sun is shining and the week before could almost feel light a nightmare. Almost. The hint of burnt anemone is still in the air but Lizzie doesn’t seem to notice. 

She lets Lizzie lead her to the dining hall, but as soon as she comments that she’s not hungry, her sister spins around, fixing her with a glare. And fuck, what if Lizzie saw something? Josie’s been careful, burning the flowers almost as soon as they appear, and her sister is not exactly observant, but still...

 _"_ Well, uh, funny thing, actually, _Josette_. This morning, as I was desperately trying to make this trash bag of a jersey look cute, I suddenly had the urge to purge. So, I fled to the bowl, and lo and behold, I heaved up a gallon of black goo. So, seeing as I haven't been dabbling in any illicit black magic recently, I can only imagine it was a twin-sympathy hurl.”

Josie looks down to hide her sigh of relief. Doing black magic with Hope might be a mortal sin in her sister’s eyes, but it’s better than Lizzie knowing about the alternative. Lizzie looks her up and down, her jaw set. 

“And here you are, denying the day's most important meal. So, fess up-- what did you do?”

Before Josie can answer, another voice enters the conversation, the absolute last person she wants to be around. 

“Maybe you're pregnant, Lizzie? Oh, or maybe it's just how that jersey fits.” Penelope smirks as they whip around, her hands wrapped around a black book, looking far too good in a striped button-up and cardigan, complete with a yellow tie that almost matched the color of the daffodils that Josie had been burning for the past week. 

She can feel the telltale sign of a cough attack about to plague her as her throat starts to itch and looking at Penelope, she knows why. Even now, even after everything, Penelope notices her, despite the attack on Lizzie. Her eyes flutter to Josie and pause briefly, mouth opened as if she wants to say something to Josie. Penelope sees her. She always has. 

She pulls herself together, a desperate attempt to cover for her raspy voice. No matter what happens, Penelope can never, ever know about this.

“Go away, evil one,” she forces out and watches Penelope’s lips pull up into a smirk as she steps closer, and god, Josie really wants to wipe that smirk away. Or kiss it away. Or run away, hide far, far from all of this, from the mess her life has become and the wreck Penelope has turned her into. 

“Already gone,” Penelope says, “but hot tip? Next time you burn your ex's hair off, make sure she can't rock a lob.”

Her fingers tingle at the words and she wants to set the world on fire or maybe tangle her hands in Penelope’s hair, which looks great, maybe better than before, and pull her close and close and close. 

But she can’t, because Penelope walked away, because Penelope doesn’t want her back, and as she leaves, Josie stays, stuck with a broken heart and flowers blooming in her throat. 

Lizzie lets the dark magic go after that particular jibe. At least for now. Josie suspects that she’ll have to be more careful, which will only prove to be more difficult as she gets sicker. M.G. runs into them right after, a smile on his face and eyes only for Lizzie as he greets them. 

“Morning! Big game today -” 

“Bounce, M.G. If you hurry, you can catch up with the Blair Bitch and tongue-chum her again.” Josie keeps her head down, can’t bring herself to meet M.G.’s eyes as he turns on his heel to flee Lizzie’s vitriol. 

Lizzie spins to Josie and the siphon can feel a meltdown coming in three, two…. 

“Did she who shall not be named just fat-shame me?”

Before Josie can even reply, at least attempt to calm her sister down, Dad appears, the guilt on his face obvious. 

He’s always had a gift with timing, hasn’t he? “Hey, girls, listen…” 

He trails off and Lizzie really will go into a full meltdown if he keeps talking, so she interrupts, an empty attempt. “Don't do it. Don't say whatever it is you're about to say because you have Dad face, and wherever Dad face goes, daughter disappointment always follows.”

Dad begs out of the game, of course. He always does. Off on some world-saving trip with Hope. Josie’s neither surprised nor angry. Not like Lizzie, who’s ranting and ranting, about how he loves Hope more than he loves them. Josie flees to the restroom not long after and watches as marigolds (jealousy) swirl in the bowl before she flushes them. 

When she comes back, the rant continues as if Josie hadn’t even left the room. “First he misses a game, and then he’ll miss our weddings!”

And Josie has absolutely, absolutely no interest in thinking about weddings, hers or Lizzie’s. Because she knows she won’t be having one. The disease killed you slowly, but it did kill you. 

Maybe Dad will do better with only two daughters. 

Josie can feel Penelope on the edge of her consciousness, like a thought malformed, and she sees the witch on the sidelines, before the game, looking far too good for someone in blue and yellow polyester. 

Penelope had never been one for school spirit before, and Josie had always had to drag her to events. But here and now, Josie can’t help but admit that she looks the part in the sinfully short skirt. Josie wants to tear it off her, and her brain is filled with all the ways she used to _incentivize_ Penelope to come to school functions. She bites down on her lower lip, tries, tries, tries to snap herself out of it. She should know better. 

It is all a scheme, she has to remember that. She’s here to dig the knife in deeper, cut and turn and twist it, and if only she knew what she was doing to Josie, maybe she - but no, maybe, probably this was what she wants. Present, always present, but out of reach, like the apple in the garden. Something to sell your soul for, but hasn’t Josie already fallen far enough for her? 

Josie gags and almost wishes she tasted bile in her throat, but instead it’s the now-familiar flavor of flowers. She's sick of it. 

She wonders how long she can hold out for today, with nowhere to hide and nowhere to conceal the petals if her body decided to betray her.

She wonders if vines are growing in her stomach, through her lungs, and up her esophagus.

She wonders if she will suffer Daphne’s fate, turned into a laurel, nothing but a tree remaining of her, like in the mythology books that Penelope would tell her late at night, soft whispers of stories in the darkness.

She wonders when her end will come. Josie gaps for air and inhales deeply before looking away from the sidelines, her lungs burning with the need for air and her eyes watering. She isn’t strong enough to fight this and it had only been a week. 

The game goes about as well as it does every year and they are losing spectacularly to conceal their powers when Lizzie calls a huddle, obviously stricken by whatever insult that bitch Dana tossed at her.

“New plan. The gloves are _off_. Let's burn these bitches to the ground,” she declares. 

Josie gets it. She does. Lizzie’s blood runs hot and she hates losing, hates the taunts. But losing is more important. Losing keeps them safe, keeps the school safe, and it’s what Dad wants. 

“Lizzie, _no_ ,” she objects, but Lizzie completely ignores her as she slams her fist into her hand like a mini-Napoleon preparing for the Battle at Waterloo. 

_“_ We're gonna give these townies a taste of what we're really made of,” she states, holding her hand out. M.G., definitely not winning any best friend loyalty awards from Josie anytime soon, places his hand on top of hers. Traitor. 

“You can count on my steel.”

Lizzie rolls her eyes and chokes out, “gross,” but before Josie can hope that this alliance will disassemble, Kaleb places his hand inside the circle. “Hey, I'm with you. All the way.”

And then, of course, they’re all in, except for her. 

_“_ Come on, Jo. You're ruining an epic moment here,” her sister pleads, sending her a warning glance. 

But- this isn’t the deal. This isn’t what they’re supposed to do. “No. No, this isn't what we talked about,” she objects. 

Lizzie shakes her head, plays her final card. “Well, I'm calling an audible, and I need you to get on board.”

Josie’s never been particularly good at saying no, especially not to her sister. She can almost hear Penelope’s voice in her head, from back then, pleading with her to stand up to Lizzie, just once. 

She eyes everyone in the huddle, has to tell herself not to look over at the sidelines where Penelope is pacing with a concerned look that has no business being on her face. Josie finally, reluctantly places her hand in the circle and Lizzie visibly brightens. 

“Here we go,” she says gleefully, and they siphon from the team, their hands glowing red, as the rest of them yell _break!_ with a clap _._

The ball is hiked to Lizzie, who drops back to pass it to M.G. who runs it in for a touchdown that seemed too easy, far too easy. It’s all far too simple for them now, and that’s dangerous. She watches the euphoria on her classmates’ faces and feels a shiver of fear run down her spine. When Lizzie hexes Dana a few plays later, Josie knows that the future of their school rests in her hands. 

As soon as they are back on the sideline, Josie grabs the whiteboard from Lizzie, nervously biting her lip, if only to keep herself from coughing because they are standing so close to where Penelope is perched on the bench, her perfume wafting in the breeze in a way that makes Josie want to stick her head in a pile of gym socks. 

“What are you doing?” Lizzie asks sharply, her eyes flashing dark. 

“I'm calling an audible of my own,” Josie replies, flipping the whiteboard over so that they can see that she wrote the word LOSE in all caps. Lizzie, who has never been one to back down during a competition, especially not with her pride at stake, scoffs at her twin. 

“Seriously?”

“I'm dead serious, and you should be, too. Dad told us to lose today for a reason,” Josie reasons, trying to continue her speech over everyone’s groans. 

“Well, he aint here, so screw that,” Kaleb interjects, plunging the knife in deeper to both Josie and Lizzie’s connected hurt when it came to their dad. 

“Yeah, _no one_ would be here if it weren't for him. My dad built this school for supernaturals like us. So, if we win by flaunting all the things that make us different, we're gonna lose a lot more than a stupid game. We'll lose _everything_. You really want Dad to stop loving us? Keep it up. And if you don't…”

M.G. looks from Josie to Lizzie but shrugs his shoulders as he says softly, “She's right, Lizzie. We got to lose the game-” 

“I didn't ask for your opinion,” Lizzie bites out through clenched teeth. 

A voice rings out and Josie feels her heart drop. Closing her eyes slowly, she glances down the bench, eyes dragging from the ground up Penelope’s thighs (lingering, she's only human, after all) to the blue and yellow jacket she’s wearing, zipped up only high enough to cover the bare minimum. 

Josie tries and fails to not think about what’s hidden under there, her voice caught in her throat as she imagines soft skin and a constellation of freckles. 

“Or, door number three...?” 

“Okay, we _definitely_ didn't ask for _your_ opinion,” Josie states simply, her heart hammering in her chest, the sound hollow in her ears. _Breathe, Josie, breathe_. 

But she can feel it once again, an itch she will never be able to scratch, beginning low in her stomach and moving higher. She clenches her fists, nails digging half-moons into her palms. 

Rage burns through her, bright like fire, at the power this girl over her. Penelope Park broke her heart and holds her life in her hands, and she sits there smirking like she doesn’t have a care in the world. “And how on earth do you always do that?! It's like she appears out of smoke!” 

Kaleb shushes Josie, eyes on Penelope. “Hold up, hold up-- what's door number three?”

Penelope’s smug expression could cut diamonds and Josie wills the earth to swallow her whole, every syllable off of Penelope’s tongue like a thousand cuts on her damaged heart. She _really_ doesn’t want to know what’s behind door number three. 

“You win... without any of your supernatural special sauce. Fair and square.”

Josie scoffs. As far as ideas went, this wasn’t one of Penelope’s best. “Yeah, but we're legitimately terrible,” she retorts with an eye roll. 

Lizzie, who has never agreed with a single any words out of Penelope’s mouth since the day that she had shown up at the Salvatore School, has spewed nothing but vitriol since Penelope had so spectacularly broken Josie’s heart, actually looks like she's going to go along with the half-baked idea, which terrifies Josie more than anything. 

“No, we _used_ to be terrible. But Kaleb's new this year.”

Lizzie levels a glare at Penelope, confident that the witch’s plan could actually work. 

“Good idea, Satan. But, to be clear, you can't have my immortal soul.” 

Josie’s heart, which was already miles deep below the earth’s surface, sinks further as Penelope blows Lizzie a kiss. 

It’s a taunt, surgical and precise, like a guided missile strike, but it’s a taunt nonetheless and Josie lingers even after the team runs to the line of scrimmage, wordlessly asking Penelope to explain herself. Praying for some kind of sign that Penelope is still here, is still hers, is still- 

The response isn’t forthcoming (of course not, it is Penelope) and Josie breathes out, shards of glass or maybe thorns scraping her throat before sparing one last look at Penelope, hand resting on her fist as a shit-eating smile dances across her lips. 

They make a comeback, somehow, without using their magic, but it isn’t enough to win the game, thankfully. 

Josie tries to be a good sport as they’re shaking hands after the game, but Dana just has to open her mouth and Lizzie throws a mean right hook and it all descends into chaos. Lizzie comes home with a black eye and Josie manages to escape the fight unscathed. On the outside, at least. 

On the inside, there are thorns in her throat and rage in her stomach and concern, concern, concern, because Lizzie is reckless and stupid and who will watch out for her, when Josie can’t?

Hours later, when she’s able to escape to the roof to burn the most recent petals - petunias, orange lilies, and carnations this time for anger (at herself), hatred (at herself), and rejection that continues to burn like gasoline on a forest fire every single time Penelope looks her way - she collapses in a heap and lets the tears she had been holding back come. 

She cries and she cries and she cries, and her body feels devoid of water, like a plant that hasn’t been watered. Finally, as tear marks streak her cheeks and her throat feels hoarse from all the sobs (but thankfully, free of any petals), she looks down at the school grounds, to where Penelope is strolling aimlessly, laughing at something one of her minions said, her head thrown back in mirth as the sun sets around them. And god, Josie is still so in love with her, will always be in love with her, will die loving her. 

All her life, she’s hoped for a fairytale. 

Instead, she’s gotten a tragedy. 

The girl who loves too much, who can’t fall out of love, who can’t walk away from the girl who doesn’t want her back. 

It’s not the fate she planned for, but it’s the one she’s been dealt. A bad hand with no way to change it. 

Acceptance stings bitter, and tastes, like everything these days, like flowers.


	3. three

Dad makes up for his absence during the game by playing the “Dad” card - all disappointed face and repetitive speech and Lizzie tries to push all the blame onto Josie, which isn’t fair, and god, sometimes Josie wonders what it would be like, to be selfish like Lizzie, just once. 

The thought is fleeting because while Lizzie’s self aggrandizement knows no bounds, Josie is very aware of it and she could never, would never....

Maybe everything would be different now. 

Maybe Penelope wouldn’t have left. 

Maybe Josie wouldn’t be left behind. 

Maybe she wouldn’t be dying. 

But it’s never really been a choice. Josie acts selfless and Lizzie acts selfish and it’s become an immaculate dance, coordinated and synchronized in its perfection, because at the end of the day, they need each other, and they both know that. Lizzie needs Josie to make sure she doesn’t cross too many lines, needs her to pick up the pieces of Lizzie that are so easily blown to pieces, needs someone to take care of her and care for her. 

And at the end of the day, Josie might hold all the cards, because she doesn’t need Lizzie the same way, not really, but there is safety in the shadow of her sister, and she needs that protection from herself. She’s wondered sometimes, if Lizzie knows that, or if she truly just thinks that the world is her personal playground. If Josie is nothing but another person at her beck and call. 

Sometimes, she wants to blow up her sister’s world, just for the hell of it, just to create a fire, a raging inferno miles high just so Lizzie could see her, just once, look her in the eye and see who she is. But she doesn’t. She never has. (Except maybe once. It didn’t change anything.)

Hope defends her, and just for a second, Josie can almost breathe, and that’s how she ends up picking up trash together with Hope in the middle of Mystic Falls. Because Lizzie is throwing one fuss after another, and Josie’s throat is scratching with thorns, and just once, she doesn’t want to be her sister’s keeper. 

Besides, Dad told them to work together, harmoniously. 

She’s working on it, angrily stabbing at pieces of trash. Her sister has been nothing but exhausting lately, and in the light of recent developments, every blow Lizzie delivers hits twice as hard. 

“You have a future in waste management,” Hope comments, next to her. 

Josie rips another bag open. “Cleaning up messes is kind of my thing.”

“Well, your sister  _ is _ kind of a dumpster fire...” Hope shrugs, her comment meant to be airy but it burns Josie’s insides and her throat rages in pain. She’s sure the petals would be ash if she exhaled. 

Josie looks over to meet Hope’s eyes, her own flashing angrily. 

“Why do you always pick fights? We've known each other for a decade, and any time you have the chance, you poke.” Josie finishes the sentence with such exhaustion, eyes fluttering away from Hope. She can’t look into them, can’t see the oceans swirling beneath them, can’t take the memories of when they were kids. 

_ “ _ You guys do your fair share of poking,” Hope argues, And yeah, she might have a point there, but still-

“Yeah, in retaliation to  _ your pokes _ . And with you spending so much time with my dad, and keeping secrets-”

That catches Hope off guard and she stumbles but tries to put up her defenses quickly.  _ “ _ We're not keeping secrets-”

Josie scoffs and the thorns in her throat make her want to claw at her windpipe, but she swallows past them. “Oh, yeah? What happened when you went to go find Landon Kirby?”

_ “ _ Nothing happened,” Hope lies, and she’s obviously hiding something. 

Josie rolls her eyes. “Something clearly  _ did _ happen. Rafael never showed up at school, my dad was rattled.... So, why won't you just tell me?” Just once, she wants the truth. Between her Dad, and Hope, and Penelope, secrets and secrets and lies, she just wants someone to look her in the eye and tell her the whole story. 

“Because there's nothing to  _ tell _ !” Hope says, and slams the stupid trash collector straight into her foot and yelps in pain.

Josie rushes over, her latent anger replaced by concern. “Are you okay? I mean, what do I do?” Healing spells have never been her forte. That was always Penelope, whispering soothing words late at night when Josie had a headache or nosebleed. 

Hope clenches her jaw. “Help me pull it out!”

“What?” She’s pretty sure that that’s exactly the  _ wrong _ thing to do in this situation. 

Oh right. Immortal Hope. She envies Hope for that, something that would grant her immunity from death, from withering and wasting away like an abandoned flower. Not that Hope needs that. She’s got all the school in love with her. Unrequited love is reserved for Josie, it seems. 

“I can heal myself. Pull it out!” Josie pulls as quickly as she can, bile rising in her throat for reasons other than flower petals, and lands on her ass a second later, the spike in her hand. 

“Ow,” Hope complains, and looks so honestly put out about a wound that is probably already half-healed that Josie can’t help but laugh. She feels lighter just for a moment, the vines wrapping around her heart loosening their constriction. The irony of the situation washes over her and she can’t help but laugh, watching Hope with sparkling eyes. 

“You poked yourself.”

Hope grins back at her, mutters, “Shut up!” with a shake of her head, and just for a moment, Josie almost forgets the world she’s living in.

Almost forgets that she’s fated to die, sooner rather than later.

Almost forgets that her mornings are spent purging and burning petals, her nights spent in tears gasping for breaths that aren’t laced with perfume. 

“Your dad knows I used black magic. That's why I'm in trouble,” Hope admits. “Don't worry, I didn't tell him that you helped me with the spell.”

“Thank you,” she says, and she means it. Dad would kill her. The rules have always been different for Hope. They always joked bitterly that she was Dad’s favorite kid and while it stung and hurt in ways that Josie could never put into words, she knows that Alaric was trying to be family for her, in his own way. 

“And Landon and Rafael took off together,” Hope continues. “Landon told me he didn't know why he stole the knife. But then, he lied about having it, so I don't know what to believe. Then he wrote me this letter that was, I don't know... sweet?”

“Lizzie's...  _ sensitive _ ,” Josie explains. It’s not even the tip of the iceberg, about why Lizzie, around Hope, is the way she is. But it’s better than nothing, she hopes. “Our mom is going on all these really long recruitment missions recently. That's why she's extra testy. She just really misses her.”

“I know the feeling,” Hope says, and her voice sounds heavy, twisted with grief. 

“I remember how your mom used to come by the school. We all used to say how beautiful she was,” 

“She was,” Hope remembers, the hint of a smile on her face. 

“We really should have sent you flowers or something…” Josie sighs. They should have it. It had only been a few, long weeks since the fire, and everything had felt messy, and too much, but she can’t imagine what it must have been like for Hope. 

“You did,” Hope laughs cheekily. “Your dad signed your names. It was obvious.”

“Okay... we  _ definitely _ deserve a little bit of poking,” Josie admits. 

Hope grins at her, and Josie feels a little bit of weight falling off her shoulder. Of course, a moment later, there are thorns scratching at her throat and she doubles over. 

“Everything okay?” Hope asks. 

Josie swallows, hard, again, and again, before she finally manages to force the flowers back down her throat. She spots M.G. making out with Dana in the distance. She’ll take the distraction. “Yeah... I think that that's just making me a little nauseous…”

“Didn't see that coming,” Hope snarks. 

“It's simple math,” Josie says. “MG has the hormones of a teenager and the impulse control of a preschooler. He also always goes for the  _ wrong _ kinds of girls.” And that mental image is still very much stuck in her brain. 

“Given my last crush, I can't judge,” Hope says. 

Neither can Josie, who tries to respond casually. 

“Well, my last crush was actually Satan incarnate.” It should be easier to insult Penelope, push her away and imagine, dream, wish that Josie doesn’t care. But she does, far, far, far too much, and feels suddenly breathless. 

_ Crush _ really isn’t the right word for any of this. Crush is too easy, too light and airy. Because this, this is so much more.

This is an all-consuming weight that sits on her chest, this is a feeling of breathlessness that has nothing to do with a passing fancy and everything to do with the fact that she is hopelessly in love with someone who doesn’t, can’t love her back.

Who doesn’t know that each time she sees her, it’s like drowning with no hope of reaching the surface.

Who doesn’t know that Josie is slowly dying, one petal at a time until blood coats her mouth and her lungs give out. 

“I need a minute,” she gasps out, adds, “I’ll be right back,” at Hope’s concerned gaze and runs, straight around the corner. She hopes that Hope hasn’t followed her even as she collapses onto the street, stones under her knees, and throws up a mountain of petals - marigolds, crocuses, camellias, yellow carnations. Grief, agony, longing, disdain. 

She hates that one thought of Penelope brings all of this up. Hates that she only has her stupid weak heart to blame because these feelings threaten to kill her, will kill her and she can’t make them stop. 

She doesn’t quite know how much time passes till she can breathe again, but when she looks up, still crouched on the ground, petals in front of her, Hope has turned around the corner, and is looking at her. 

“Penelope?” she asks, and somehow, the single word breaks Josie in two, carries her voice away from her aching throat, and she nods wordlessly. 

Hope kneels down in front of her, and her gaze is gentle, filled with kindness. “I’m so sorry, Jo,” she sighs. 

“Don’t tell anyone,” Josie pleads. Because no one can know. Not Dad, not Lizzie, and certainly not Penelope. 

Hope shakes her head, her jaw set and her loyalty shining through her words. “I would never. Who have you told?”

Josie bites down on her lower lip, averting her eyes and shaking her head, and watches Hope pale in front of her. “No one?” The other girl guesses. 

“Not even Lizzie?” Thorns catch and scratch in Josie’s throat and she swallows past the feeling, swallows down the guilt. 

“She wouldn’t deal well with this,” Josie admits and Hope reaches out, clasps Josie’s hand between her own because even though Hope has built walls a mile high to keep everyone out, to keep her heart safe, she cares about Josie. She always has, even if it has been from a distance, because love was easy, but trust was hard. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. 

The air feels heavy around them and Josie breathes in deeply, tries to refocus. “No spell for this in your dark magic array?” she forces out, a fake smile on her lips and a derisive laugh scraping her throat. 

“I’ll ask my Aunt Freya,” Hope promises, squeezing her hand. It’s empty comfort, they both know that. There is no cure, no solution, no magic, that can fix this. Josie would have found it already. 

Josie smiles back at her, but breathes out the next sentence, the next plea.. “And don’t tell Lizzie. Or my Dad. Please.”

Hope sighs, slowly getting to her feet and holding her hand out to Josie. “I won’t. But you should. They wouldn’t want you to go through this alone.”

Neither of them are ready to deal with this, Josie knows. Dad is going crazy trying to figure out the Landon Kirby mystery, Lizzie is being Lizzie, and her mom is halfway around the world trying. No one has time for this, time for her. 

But before she can finish that thought, searing pain rushes through her abdomen and a second later, Hope’s arm is wrapped around her throat. “Again?” she questions. 

“No,” Josie forces out. No, this is entirely different. “Lizzie. Twin pain. Something is happening at the school.”

They badger Dorian until he tells them the truth and on their way to the school, Hope fills her in everything she knows between labored breaths as they race towards Lizzie, towards Dad. 

It’s a gargoyle, a fucking goddamn gargoyle, long supposed to be extinct, and Josie grabs an ax and they fight, and fight, and when Hope’s magic is soaring through her veins, and they’re whispering one spell after the next and the monster explodes to shambles, she can breathe a little easier.

She can forget that she’s dying while she’s siphoning from Hope, can forget that this will all end soon.

Can forget dark hair and dark eyes and olive skin that was always so soft.

She can forget it all, if only for a moment. 

She takes care of Lizzie, who’s mostly gotten over her scare and enjoys being pampered by the whole school, and listens to Dad, who confesses that he’s been lying and lying, hiding monsters intent on wreaking havoc from them. 

When Dad’s calmer and Lizzie is asleep and safe, her heart beating a rhythm that Josie knows all too well, she sneaks away to her favourite balcony, overlooking the grounds, and most especially, the place at the front of the steps, where Penelope holds court with her band of loyal followers, and watches, and watches. 

She coughs up a single petal, which feels like an improvement, but it’s only a reminder. She lets it burn and drift down to the ground, the white rose petal burning bright before disintegrating she realizes the meaning. Reverence. Because Penelope looked good in any light, but it is golden hour and she was sparkling and Josie is so, so gone for her. 

“Hi,” a voice interrupts her musings and she raises an eyebrow at Hope. She should have known better to think that the tribrid would forget her secret. Hope may be standoffish and secretive, but the hero in her needs that validation of making sure that everyone is safe, long after the monster is gone. 

“How did you find me?”

“Locator spell,” Hope admits, “I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m okay,” she says. “Lizzie is healed.” As if that was the only worry on Josie’s mind. 

Hope steps out onto the balcony, moving her gaze over the grounds. “Have you thought about telling her?” she asks, indicating towards Penelope, who looks magnificent and regal and beautiful and- 

Josie shakes her head, a wave of nausea hitting her with the full force of a freight train. She swallows the petals back, tells herself that she can handle a conversation with Hope before dissolving into another coughing fit that will leave her breathless, reeking of flowers. 

“I can’t.” She inhales, exhales the clean air of the early evening as the sky burns yellow and orange and red. “We were happy, you know? Before she woke up one morning and decided that she was done. I know I look like an idiot now, getting this sick over  _ a girl _ and a relationship cut short, but I thought we were happy. I trusted her not to leave.”

Hope nods, “I know it’s not the same, but I do know the feeling.”

“You don’t have to stay,” Josie offers, “just because you know.”

“If it’s all the same for you,” Hope replies, “I’d rather stick around for a bit.”

The sunset still feels painful, the eternal reminder that she doesn’t know how many days she has left, but there’s something comforting about not looking at it on her own. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone knows at last... let us know your thoughts in the comments, pretty please? stay safe, stay healthy and take care.


	4. four

The next few weeks are manageable, mostly. Josie has a routine now when she knows she will see Penelope, when she knows she will need to dash away to the bathroom or hide in one of the nooks of the school, wait for the scratching in her throat to subside. 

Once or twice, Hope throws around an errant jinx with a quiet mutter during class, allowing Josie to escape unscathed before anyone notices that she’s about to spread out petals over the ground. 

They’re different now, tinged with red around the edges, and Josie sets them on fire as if that erases anything, anything at all. Hope looks at her far too often, her eyes knowing and Josie hates to see the pity, hates that she’s dying in front of Hope, that even the most powerful creature in the world can’t save her. 

Hope, Lizzie and M.G. traipse off to Mystic Falls High to find out more about the newest monster, but Josie chooses to stay behind. The school is a haven, and she needs access to magic, needs to be able to hide the evidence of her damaged heart. Besides, she’s busy, trying to find out more about the offensive magic her Dad has shielded them from. 

Of course the monster shows up at the school, giant spider, and she and Rafael get caught in his web. She feels something that could almost be butterflies when she siphons from him with a kiss, but even as her brain hopes, her heart knows the truth. 

An hour later, kneeling on the floor of their bathroom, she’s painfully reminded of her affliction. No amount of pretty girls or handsome boys, no kisses, could ever change this: Josie is Penelope’s, even if Penelope isn’t hers anymore. 

The petals are all orange lilies tinged with her blood and she hates herself. Hates herself for loving Penelope so strongly, hates that she can’t help it, hates that no amount of attention from anyone else will make her feel any better. 

She fights with her father about the offensive magic, and she wins. She’s determined. Lizzie could have died just weeks ago, and they need to know how to protect themselves. He gives in, more out of exhaustion than anything else. 

And then he comes up with the idea of implementing an honor council. 

And of course, Lizzie is all in, and absolutely certain that she’ll be the one chosen. 

Josie could argue with her, but what use is fighting for a position she’ll only get to hold for weeks? And yet, there’s something grating about Lizzie trying on one outfit after the next while Josie works on her campaign posters. Especially when her sister is the one telling her to focus. 

“You know, you’re not gonna lose the election over an outfit,” Josie reminds her. 

“I’m not worried about losing the election—I’m worried about what I’m going to wear to my victory rally! The outfit makes the speech,,” Lizzie replies and not for the first time in her life, Josie wonders what it must be like to live life like that, to always see yourself and nothing, no one else. 

Lizzie turns her outfit to bubblegum pink, turning around with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “How do I look?” She asks. 

“Maybe you should wear something that shows your fellow witches you’re gonna take this seriously. It’s a big responsibility,” Josie replies. She can’t help it, sometimes. She’s always going to be on Lizzie’s side, but there’s nothing wrong with caring about other people, just a bit. 

(Even if it kills you.)

“That is why I am perfect for the job,” Lizzie says, “I’m a taste-maker, an influencer. People don’t really know what they want until I tell them that they want it. They  _ need _ me.” 

Lizzie is too busy preening in front of the mirror as Josie coughs up a single petal - a hydrangea - barely discernible through the blood, and she crumbles it in her hand, wiping her palm on her navy sweater. She had no time for jealousy, not about this, not when she felt vines crawling up her throat, constricting her heart and choking her from the inside. 

The feeling only worsens when Josie enters the foyer a few hours later, a pile of posters in her hands and her best sticking spell at her fingertips when she picks up the tail-end of a conversation she knew she certainly wasn’t privy to. 

_ “... _ Lizzie Saltzman only cares about Lizzie Saltzman. If your interests don’t line up with hers, you’re  _ witch non grata _ . I personally believe that you deserve a better candidate -” 

Josie cuts her heart in her throat because avoiding Penelope is number one on her list of things to do, but being  _ around,  _ being close to Penelope is as intoxicating, as it is excruciating, like the feeling of flames between her fingertips, like holding an exploding star in her hands, knowing that the black hole would swallow her up but daring to be that close to a supernova. 

_ “ _ So, you’re running for honor council just to spite her?” The question falls from her lips before she can stop herself, anger exploding that she’s been carrying around for weeks now. She’s mad, the feeling smoldering beneath her chest and its so much better than the feeling of suffocating on flowers. 

She’s mad at Penelope, she's mad at herself, she’s mad at this entire situation to which she has no control all because a pretty girl smiled at her once and then shattered her heart into a thousand tiny pieces, only to have her heart and lungs regrow as weeds, as poison ivy. 

A quiet wave of Penelope’s hand and the witches surrounding her disperse, and god, Josie should really no longer find it attractive just how easily Penelope commands half the school, but damn it, she does. Instead, she refocuses on her anger as Penelope stands up to face her. She unfurls her legs slowly, a leopard watching her prey as the cape she wears falls around her shoulders. Armor, impenetrable. Josie wants to tear it off of her. Reduce her to a girl, her fortress in disarray. 

“That’s low, Penelope, even for you,” she says, and Penelope smirks at her. 

“You used to like it when I went low,” she replies, and Josie feels electricity spark through the room, between them, at the glimmer in Penelope’s eye, the same smirk on her face that Josie remembers all too well, Penelope glancing up at her with heavy-lidded eyes. 

It would be so easy to drop the posters, grab her and spin her around to slam her against the wall, but Josie feels her heart clench even tighter, feels the vines grasping around her vocal chords. 

_ “ _ You know what I mean,” Josie forces out, and she’s definitely more than a little, flustered, maybe. “You don’t even like extracurricular activities, let alone anything that involves a moral compass.”

Penelope walks towards her, up the steps, and maybe her heart skips a beat as she reaches for one of the posters, glancing at the slogan, “I’m With Her,” written across Lizzie’s picture. She holds it up and Josie is sure that she’s making a point, but she’s intoxicatingly close and Josie’s self-control is balancing on a knife’s edge and she yearns to be selfish, just once. 

“Oh, and your one-witch ethics committee is okay with double plagiarism?” Penelope snipes. 

_ Focus _ , Josie chides herself, and snatches the poster back. “It’s not like “Hope” was an option.” She breathes in deeply. She can’t change the fact that vines are threaded into her heart, but she’s still here, still alive, for now. 

“Bow out now, or I will crush you,” she threatens. 

“Oh, honey—you crush  _ on _ me,” Penelope mocks, irrefutably arrogant as always, and for once, so very wrong. Josie wishes for that, a crush, a passing feeling, but the truth is this: she loves Penelope Park, even with a mocking smile on her face, speaking truths Josie doesn’t want to hear. “And deep down, you know I’m right. Your sister’s unfit for office.”

Penelope walks away, all too easy for her, again. Josie watches her go, the posters still in her hand. She waits a beat, and then two, and dashes to the bathroom. The posters fly all around her in a heap, landing on the floor and in the sink as Josie feels her insides turn out, a flurry of camellias flying forward, their pink petals coated in blood. 

As Josie gulps for air, her hair slick against her forehead, she realizes how close she is to the end. 

Lizzie trades her vote for Landon staying at the school against Rafael being her date to their birthday and Josie fakes happiness and feels bitterness. Because Lizzie has traded a vote that’s so important, essential, to the safety of the school and everyone who lives here for a guy she doesn’t even really want. She’s bitter at herself, because she will choose to remain in the shadows and Lizzie will take it all, the honor council position and Rafael and never, ever see anyone else. 

(Will never realize that Josie is dying right in front of her eyes, twin senses be damned.) 

They vote the next day, and Josie is by Lizzie’s side, pretending that everything is fine, fixing her bow tie and plastering on a fake smile as Penelope, always one for dramatics (she could rival Lizzie in that respect), commands the hall. 

Her ballot lay flat in her palm, and Josie wishes, just for a moment, that she could be that scrap of paper. That she could fit in Penelope’s hand again, even as she wasted away to nothing. She blows softly, the spell crackling through Josie’s mind because she had taught Penelope that trick one night, Josie’s arm pointed skyward as she levitated a paper crane over Penelope’s bed. 

Penelope walks towards her seat, swinging hips and confident smirk, and Josie can’t look away. Can’t look away even as she inhales and tastes lavender, tastes camellias, floral nuances overwhelming her senses. 

_ “ _ All right. Voting is now closed,” Emma declares, as the room erupts into applause.  _ “ _ Let’s get started.” The room is silent for a moment, before the ballot box begins vibrating, lighting up and spitting out the first piece of parchment. “The werewolf representative will be … Rafael,” she declares. 

The werewolves erupt into thunderous applause for their new alpha, cheering and clapping, and Josie rolls her eyes. “So much for not wanting anything to do with the pack…” It’s funny, how everyone seems to have the easiest time taking all the things they claim not even to want, while Josie - well, while Josie is frozen in place. Because she can’t move on from Penelope, even as it kills her. She can’t bring herself to take and take and take like Lizzie because that’s not how she is, can’t bring herself to want because if wanting tastes like this, then she really is doomed.

“I’ve always wanted to be part of a power couple…” Lizzie sighs happily next to her, and god, Josie wishes her sister just had an ounce of care for anyone else in the world. 

Emma urges them to settle down as the box comes to life again, the next piece of parchment flying upwards.  _   
_ _ “ _ The vampire representative will be…,” Josie watches M.G. button his jacket and get to his feet as Emma finishes her sentence, “...Kaleb.”

M.G. falls back into his chair as the vampires cheer and laugh. Josie’s heart breaks for M.G. because while it was a popularity contest and totally unfair, he would have brought a levity to the position that Kaleb can’t provide. 

_ “ _ All right, guys, settle down,” Emma requests. “Thank you.”

Next to her, Lizzie is getting ready, preparing herself for her moment of triumph. “Showtime. How do I look?” she asks Josie and Josie can’t help but smile back at her with a supportive nod. This is her sister, this is her twin. Her other half, despite her selfish nature and egoism. 

_ “ _ And the witch representative will be…” Emma unfolds the final piece of parchment, and Josie holds her breath, she can’t help it, “...Josie.”

Lizzie’s expression shatters to pieces, horror and betrayal obvious in her gaze as she glances at her sister. 

Joy and fear and pain and happiness course through Josie, and she has no idea what’s happening here, and that usually means - she spins around in her seat to find Penelope smirking in her direction, winking and pointing finger guns at her. Josie wants to feel relieved, because she  _ knows  _ that she would be good at this, knows that she will care and ask the hard questions and advocate for all of the witches, but she hadn’t- she never wanted this. Some small part of her did, but not at the expense of her sister. 

She tastes only bitterness now. 

And she hates, hates, hates, that the only person who had even seen that she might want this, even with just a tiny slice of her soul, is the one who doesn’t want her back, the one who walked away and left her shattered. 

Penelope knows her, better maybe than even Lizzie does, knows her strengths and her weaknesses, her fears and her dreams. She’s seen it all - and walked away. 

In the distance, she hears Emma’s voice, thanking them for voting and closing the assembly. 

Lizzie disappears moments later, another betrayed look in Josie’s direction, and by the time Josie finds her, she’s in their room again, dressed in dramatic black and meditating on the ground. 

“Can I-” Josie attempts, and Lizzie squeezes her eyes shut, shushing her. 

“--get you anything?” Josie finishes, almost desperately. She hates this. She hates pain, she hates seeing the people she loves in pain, and she hates seeing  _ Lizzie _ , most acutely, in pain.

For once, she doesn’t swallow back petals, but guilt, guilt at being the reason, the cause, for Lizzie’s hurt.

“I said  _ shhh. _ ” Lizzie says, breathing in deeply. “I’m trying to rise above it—so let me freaking  _ rise _ .”

_ “ _ Okay, I don’t know why Penelope had them vote for me. It doesn’t make any sense.” Her voice sounds empty, the justification ringing hollow, even though she’s speaking the truth. 

Truth was never going to be good enough for Lizzie Saltzman, however.

Lizzie closes her eyes and sets the singing bowl on the floor in front of her. “What’s done is done, Jo.”

_ “ _ Well, I can step down, and then they’d have to go with the runner-up.”

_ “ _ Great minds think alike,” Lizzie replies, her voice icy. “I already asked Emma if we could do that.”

_ “ _ And Emma said no? Well, then we can ask Dad-” Josie tries, desperation ringing through her voice as she takes a gasping breath. No, not right now. Anything but  _ right now.  _

“She said yes… except it turns out I wasn’t the runner-up, either.”

Josie knows with absolute certainty, because Lizzie might not be well-liked, but she is certainly feared, that it was Penelope who tipped the scales just as she wanted them, and she can feel flowers ripping through her body, flowing out of her, just at that thought. 

“I gotta -” Josie barely spits out, racing to the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. They spring forth in a shower of petals, the concussive embrace making her drop to her knees as blood splatters the walls. Josie looks at the mess, her mess, what her life has become as tears blur her vision. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and next chapter, we'll have the twins' birthday, so that's something to look forward to ;) until then, stay safe, stay healthy and mayhaps let us know your thoughts in the comments, lovely humans.

**Author's Note:**

> if we adhere to the "maximum efficient posting schedule" my darling alex has set for us (color-coded spreadsheet and all), we might update every thursday. if not, i was probably busy eating chocolate and marathoning old movies. 
> 
> either way, we hope you join us on this journey and let us know your thoughts in the comments.


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